


Clear

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis is attached to something ephemeral.





	Clear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blue_Q](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Q/gifts).



> A/N: Smol thing for taihaku-tk, who speculated on an Ignis/Prompto AU of Boys and Imbroglios.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It feels so good to do _nothing_ for once, to lie back and enjoy himself as someone else does all the work. It isn’t often that _Ignis_ is the one being doted on, but that’s part of what makes these rare session so poignant, so delightfully satisfying, so _wondrous_. Ignis has a sharp intake of breath as the hot channel tightens around him, tensing with Prompto’s needy gasp. Prompto’s hands slide over Ignis’ chest, kneading his pectorals and holding on. Ignis doesn’t mind the crushing weight. He likes the way it feels when Prompto’s fully impaled, seated in his lap and practically buckled over with exertion. Prompto moans as he grinds his hips down, taking Ignis in little staccato thrusts and erratic circles. It isn’t the exacting way that Ignis makes love when he’s driving their momentum, but it’s every bit as _good_.

With a ragged cry, Prompto clenches hard, and Ignis can see his cock twitching—so close. Prompto always comes first. It’s a silent complement that Ignis always revels in. He tries never to rush towards it, to withhold touching Prompto as much as he’d like when they’re in the thick of things—he’s left his hands in the sheets, though he’d love to run them over Prompto’s pliant body, palm his chest and dig into his hips, pinch his nipples and stroke his cock: he’d come much too quickly. Now there’s no point resisting: Ignis has studied Prompto’s pre-orgasm face in every detail and knows when it’s coming. He wraps his fingers around Prompto’s pulsing shaft, and Prompto gasps: “ _Ignis._ ” He’s perfect with the details.

A few strokes is all it takes; Prompto bursts in his hand and paints his stomach, bucking shamelessly into his grip to milk out every drop. The reverberations in Prompto’s body rush Ignis to his own end: he can’t resist the way that Prompto’s ass swallows him up. His glasses have become slightly fogged, but he’s left them on to retain what detail he can in Prompto’s pretty face: that spurs him on just as much. He’s in love with the way that Prompto looks during sex. He loves the way that Prompto sounds, panting and coming down, and the way that Prompto smells, slick with sweat, and the way that he feels—sticky and boiling hot, utterly naked atop Ignis’ clothed thighs, while Ignis’ white button-up lies open on either side but still on both his arms. Best of all is the way that Prompto looks down at him, smiling hazily through thickly dilated eyes, all flushed freckles and wild yellow hair. Like a benevolent Seventh, Prompto bites his bottom lip and deliberately squeezes around Ignis’ cock. He doesn’t even have to bounce anymore like he did so fiercely throughout most of it. That look and that feeling topples Ignis. He bites back his roar and shuts his eyes, arching up as he fills Prompto’s incredible body. Prompto mewls happily for it.

Ignis’ orgasm is as wonderful as always. Wholly fulfilling, it eclipses the last remains of the week’s mounting stress. It leaves him numb and dizzy afterwards, pleasantly boneless. He’s truly contented in its wake. When he has the wherewithal, he offers Prompto a slight smile to show his approval. 

Smiling broader, Prompto leans down. Still stuffed with Ignis’ flagging cock, he descends on Ignis’ face, kissing Ignis’ lips. Ignis shares a few lazy pecks but tries not to get lost in them. _Those_ moments, delicate in the afterglow, are more dangerous than the carnal throes. Prompto catches on quickly and sighs, pulling back up.

He waits another moment, then climbs off of Ignis with a ginger wince. Ignis made sure to prepare him well— _always_ takes care of him—but knows it still feels strange to part. It can’t hurt that much, because Prompto sits on the mattress afterwards, looking down at Ignis, evidently still too breathless for words. Ignis doesn’t have any either. 

In the lingering silence, Prompto starts doing the buttons of Ignis’ shirt back up. It’ll need to be washed and ironed, of course, but the evening’s over, and their clothes must return. They must go on with life, even if Ignis doesn’t want them to. He knows what clothes mean: that the session’s over. That Prompto’s body is no longer in his reach. Worse, Prompto’s time is no longer his to occupy. Maybe another man’s lined up after Ignis, waiting for a sweet blond who laughs like a friend and cries their name so genuinely during sex. Ignis doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know. 

He waits until Prompto’s on the final button, casually fastening his collar, before asking, “Would you like dinner?”

Prompto looks surprised. But he finishes and makes a show of smoothing out Ignis’ shirt, _touching him_ more than need be. It’s not the first time they’ve lingered after sex, but it’s the first official offer. “You mean like... takeout?”

“No, I was going to cook something.” He doesn’t have much in his cupboards—he rarely has time to cook at home for himself, when most of those skills are spent at Noctis’ apartment.

But he isn’t supposed to think about that. He isn’t supposed to think about his charge, his beloved prince, who attends the same university as Prompto, even shares a few classes, and has no idea that Ignis is so depraved as this.

Ignis has managed to never ravish Prompto in that posh school uniform. The thoughts still wriggle in from time to time. He shuts them down and asks, “Do you like pasta?” He should at least have that. And it seems like something Prompto would like: simple but hearty. Prompto’s face looks like he does.

But Prompto shrugs. “I don’t want to be a bother...”

“It’s no trouble; I would quite enjoy having dinner with you. I’ll pay for the extra time, of course.”

Prompto flushes pink, like he does whenever Ignis puts more money on the table, but Ignis is fair and continues to offer. “You don’t have to do that...”

“I’m still taking up your time. I’m sure you have much better things to do than entertain a lonely client.”

Prompto snorts like he doesn’t, but Ignis knows a man exactly his age and can guess well enough all the homework and video games and other things he must want to do instead, not to mention all the housekeeping things that Prompto doesn’t have an Ignis to do for him. He still shakes his head and insists, “No way; if you’re gonna feed me, no charge. Just let me catch a shower first, though?”

“Of course.” Ignis always enjoys the thought of Prompto in his shower. Prompto bends down to give him another cute peck, then rises off the bed, strolling across Ignis’ bedroom, essentially naked. The only thing that remains is his green-yellow wristband: a strange boundary Ignis has never tried to cross. He hears the washroom door click around the corner. Prompto’s clothes are still strewn about his bedroom.

It takes considerable effort to get up. But once he does, life resumes. He has the urge to collect and fold those clothes, even though it’s after hours and he’s supposed to be _not_ working. He resists and wanders into the kitchen, fastening his underwear and pants back up again. As he washes his hands, he’s grateful that his apartment allows hot water to be running in more places than once. He fills a pot with water, finding a box of plain linguini that should be ready before Prompto’s finished. 

With his mind still pleasantly clear, Ignis prepares a spicy sauce with mixed vegetables. His phone rings once, but it thankfully isn’t work, just Gladiolus asking if they’re still on for practice tomorrow. Ignis replies with a curt ‘yes’ and leaves the rest of the incoming conversation for another time. He enjoys speaking with Gladiolus, of course, and ‘his work’: Noctis. But every so often, it’s relaxing to be away from all things _Citadel_ , just at home with another commoner, doing low-stress things like sex and food. It helps that Prompto’s _fun_ to be around: a jubilant counterbalance to Ignis’ stoicism, cheerful and carefree. 

It’s unfortunate that their situation isn’t free, but that’s another matter. One Ignis can’t afford to pick at. He’s just portioning the pasta onto plates when Prompto remerges, fully dressed and squeaky clean. He doesn’t even have a chance to re-greet Ignis: the dinner table catches his eyes, and he hurries over, gasping, “Wow! This looks great.”

“It’s nothing special,” Ignis murmurs. He’s made far more elaborate things before, albeit less healthy, but Prompto thankfully makes no ill comment on the vegetables. He takes his seat as Ignis pours them water and wishes he had more around—wine, perhaps, and candles. But then, Prompto doesn’t seem like a wine and candle sort of person, so maybe it’s for the best. He swirls his fork through the pasta and takes his first bite, declaring around a mouthful, “Mmph! Thif if deliciouf!” 

Ignoring the poor table manners, Ignis answers, “Thank you,” and joins in. Considering how rushed he was and how little preparation he had, it doesn’t taste half bad. Prompto happily shovels it down. For a while, they simply eat in relative silence.

Then, when a comfortable hush has fallen and only a few noodles are left on either plate, Prompto says, “Ignis? Can I ask you something?”

Ignis agrees, “Certainly,” and notes the way that Prompto’s gaze has suddenly locked onto his plate.

“I don’t mean to pry, but... I can’t help wondering why you’re paying for it.”

Fork halfway to his mouth, Ignis pauses. “Excuse me?”

Prompto tilts his head, like internally debating something, then looks up to Ignis with intense blue eyes and bursts, “I mean, you’re _really_ hot, y’know? And that would be enough. But like, you’ve also got a great job, and your place is always clean, _and_ you’re a great cook... and you’re super smart... so... I figure you could pretty much have anyone you want. Why pay me for it?”

Ignis is sure his face is burning from the complements, though he naturally does his best to hide it. Flattery wars in him with guilt—he knows he shouldn’t be soliciting one of Noctis’ schoolmates. When that one friend offered to give him Prompto’s card, promised it was all clean and fine and consensual, he shouldn’t have broken down and called the number. But he was at the end of his rope, and he still often is—he’s far too busy to date, to meet anyone, to give himself to anyone when most of his life is dedicated to his prince. But he _needs_ the release. And Prompto gives it to him so well, gives more than he asks— _fits with him_ so perfectly. That’s another issue.

He doesn’t know how to explain all of it in a way that doesn’t overstep and make him seem incompetent, unable to balance his duties, pure sex and feelings, so he simply answers, “Thank you. But I could ask you the same question. You’re a handsome, thoroughly enjoyable young man with many prospects, and you don’t seem to be gravely lacking in money, so why sell?”

Blushing as much as Ignis probably is, Prompto chirps, “Fair.”

Then he puts his fork down: all his pasta’s gone. His plate looks almost licked-clean. Ignis’ stomach sinks when he realizes what that means: it’s the end of it. Again. Prompto smiles hollowly, like he’s come to the same conclusion but doesn’t want to. 

They still go through the motions. Prompto gets up, collects his bag from the bedroom, and Ignis escorts him to the door, digitally transferring the money before his eyes. As Prompto puts on his shoes in the hall, Ignis offers, “I could drive you home.”

“No,” Prompto sighs, stuffing into his second shoe and straightening up again. “I have to cut myself off at some point or I’ll fall too crazy in love with you.”

He grins, maybe in jest or not, and kisses Ignis’ cheek, while Ignis is too stunned to respond. Then Prompto’s exiting the apartment and Ignis’ life, at least until Ignis gives in again, very much already having fallen.


End file.
